"As soon as you realize everything's a joke, being the Comedian is the only thing that makes sense."--Alan Moore

Monday, December 10, 2012

The HoseMaster's Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

You were so good to me last Christmas. I got everything I asked for! Even The Alice Feiring Make Your Own Natural Wine Kit™, complete with the Frank Cornelissen inflatable doll! Funny place to put the oral inflation valve, but I guess that’s where Alice likes it. You even brought me a signed copy of Rudy K.’s new mystery novel, “The BurgHound of the Baskervilles.” I never saw the ending coming at all. Experts being fooled by fraudulent wines! Who’s ever heard of such a thing? Usually they’re fooled by ordinary wines. What a twist! So, thank you, Santa, it was my best Christmas ever. And what will I do with that fabulous collection of wines that was under the tree? Every single Jay Miller 100 point wine! Maybe I should do what my hero Dr. Miller would do! Ask for money and then lose myself in a bucket of foie gras.

This year, Santa, I don’t want anything for myself. Really. Life has been so generous and wonderful to me. I don’t need a single thing. Sure, I’d like to live long enough to see wine print publications die, but that’s not your department. But, although I don’t want any gifts for the HoseMaster this year, I do want to ask you for some things for the wine business, some things I think it desperately needs. Christmas is a time to focus on the less fortunate, and no one, Santa, considers themselves less fortunate than people in the wine business.

Would it be possible, Santa, to end the arguing about natural, authentic, and real wines versus just plain old wine? It makes me sad. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night because the arguing gets so bad and I’m fearful I’ll never be able to drink wine again without wondering if something terrible is in it, like flavor. The natural wine people scare me, Santa, they’re so sad and hopeless. They want to fix everybody, make them see that they’re horrible people if they don’t agree with their standards. They’re like Al-Qaeda, but, tragically, minus the suicide bombers. They’re so nervous all the time, these poor people. Nervous that people are adding stuff to their wine that will hurt them, as if it isn’t the alcohol that will kill them first. Nervous that wine will become too easy to understand for ordinary people and they’ll be rendered useless and unimportant, like James Suckling. Nervous that no one outside of their own flock cares what they think or ever will. Is it any wonder they’re all so short and skinny? They tremble like those little Chihuahuas that Paris Hilton uses as personal vibrators. They need your help this Christmas, Santa.

Can you just make it so we talk about wine on its own merit? That’s what I want for Christmas, Santa. That there be no Natural Wine, or Authentic Wine, or Real Wine, but that there just be Good Wine. That we judge a wine not by its upbringing or color, but by the content of its character. OK, I stole that from the great wine leader, Martin Luther Ray, but it’s important. Who gets to be the judge of whether a wine is “real?” (Bad enough I have to worry about Real Mayonnaise.) All these sad doomsayers who have found a hobby horse and are going to ride that poor nag until its hooves turn to dog food, or the special at Guy Fieri’s American Kitchen? Have any of them ever found a “real” wine that sucks? Not that I can tell. They’re too busy preaching the gospel to those other sad souls who think they can save the wine world by the force of their expectorations to exercise any discernment. If it’s natural, it’s good. And they can’t be fooled! There’s an “energy” to authentic wines. It’s that same energy harnessed to make the miracle that is the Magic Eight Ball and Ouija Boards. Sad folks, Santa. Can you make them see that there is an artificial ingredient in every wine? It’s called sales and marketing.

And, Santa, I’m really worried about all of these people I read about on the Internet who are going all alone on wine journeys but don’t know where the hell they’re going. They want me to join them on their journey to discover wine, but I don’t want to go. Could you find someone to help them, Santa? Maybe give them personalities or original thoughts? Or maybe you could get the Real Wine mujahideen to take them on a journey to Afghan wine country where they can be trained as Authentic disciples. No one would miss them. Oh, Santa, I’m so confused. So many people on wine journeys and so many of them lost. Can you help them, Santa? Give them all copies of Wilfred Wong’s new book, “Me Love Wine Long Time.” I can’t get my work done thinking about all of these hapless and unimaginative people on a journey. What will they do when they need their wits? Borrow a cup? Help them, Santa, please. They’re the homeless people of the wine world, wandering on a demented journey and filling the dead air with mindless and confused babbling that only they can make sense of while pushing a shopping cart filled with their dreary lives. Can you make it so we treat them like our far-too-numerous homeless? Shove them where no one can see them? I’d appreciate it, Santa.

There’s so much I want for the wine business, Santa. I won’t expect you to fix everything. But even just a few of my wishes granted would help. I know you’re busy; Alderpated wants more junkets and more respect, like those two go together, and Jenna Talia Baiocchi wants panties with different grape varieties embroidered on them (I love the one that says “Cot Naked!”). But can you also make the cork versus Stelvin controversy just go away? It’s not good for everyone to fight over closures. There’s room for all of them. Is it really necessary for Stelvin to plaster their new motto all over the media? “Stelvin—When You’re Too Fucking Drunk to Use a Corkscrew!” It’s so divisive, like that despicable Senator who said that women who get raped should “be like a cheap bottle of wine and get unscrewed.” Everyone is a loser in this debate. Can you just make it go away, Santa, please, for me?

I’ve been a good boy all year. I’ve been nice to everyone. Ask anybody. I don’t want anything for myself, Santa. I just want for the wine world what I give to everyone in it, love and understanding.

At least RP went out with a bang. 2009 was the newest "vintage of the century" and Bob was throwing around hundreds like a rapper in a strip club. Just when you stated to wonder how he could top that he sold the rag.

I'm going to go for first! And I think I have a good chance of getting it because 1) I live in Europe so I have a 6-hours head start on y'all and 2) as a natural wine-drinker I don't get terrible hangovers from all those nasty toxic chemicals and so can get up bright n early. ha ha :)

So the way I heard it is that Robert and Alice had a wild night after and argument and a bottle of Sine Qua Non....well she got knocked up and she's using the baby, "James Miller Corti Pafeiring" to black male him, (and all this time I thought he was a puffy white man) to finally save the world from Parkerization. She is my hero....how the fuck did she choke down Sine Qua Non?! I guess it was better to swallow that than little James Miller Cort Pafeiring though...

Outstanding and hilarious writing! You made my day - Robert Joseph showed me this whilst traveling with him this morning. It's such a joy to be whooping in delight at your humour - so refreshing - the wine business needs many more people like you in it! Look forward to reading regularly!

Hi Catherine,Thank you! You made my day, and please do come back regularly. Thank Mr. Joseph for me. I've been writing here on and off for four years, and now I'm an overnight sensation. Like a toothache.

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About Me

After 19 years as a Sommelier in Los Angeles, twice named Sommelier of the Year by the Southern California Restaurant Writers' Association, I moved to Sonoma County to explore the other aspects of the wine business. I've spent, OK wasted, 35 years learning about and teaching about and swallowing wine. I am also a judge at the Sonoma Harvest Fair, San Francisco Chronicle Wine Competition and the San Francisco International Wine Competition--so I can spit like a rabid llama. I know more about wine than David Sedaris and I'm funnier than James Laube. Stay tuned for an informed but jaded view of everything wine and everything else.
I'm living proof that alcohol kills brain cells.

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